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mybrainismadeofcottons · 11 months

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Hanging Like A Fruit, Ready To Be Juiced

Summary: There is something about the way his brother's wife eats fruit at breakfast that makes Prince Aemond Targaryen think he’s gone to madness. Pairing: Prince Aemond x Female!Reader (Aegon's wife) Word Count: 2.7 k Warnings & Themes: SMUT, oral s*x (m receiving), swallowing c*m, exhibitionism, infidelity

Fruity divider by @sligheach-sidhe

🌜Author's Note: Hello! Remember when I said expect randomness from me rn? This is it. I'm ignoring my WIPS because the muses woke up yesterday wanting some sloppy toppy with our one-eyed Prince, so I finished a half written piece. IDK what this is anymore, I need to stop looking at it. Not beta read so please be nice, I tried using a different tense with this one.

Title are lyrics from Froot by MARINA...love me a double entendre. 🍒 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

There is something about the way his brother's wife eats fruit at breakfast that makes Prince Aemond Targaryen think he’s gone to madness.

He becomes aware of it during your very first breakfast with his family, when they seat you directly across from him, a hungover Prince Aegon at your side. With each large strawberry you consume that morning – six of them, Aemond counts – his gaze fixates on your lips tantalizingly enveloping the crimson, succulent flesh held delicately between your fingers. The sight of the glistening pink juices adorning your mouth with every bite, and the occasional flicker of your saturated tongue capturing the sweetness, stirs a heated desire within him.

Yet, Aemond knows he should not be observing you like this.

You are newly wedded to his brother, destined to bear Aegon's children and assume the role of his Queen in due time.

But you are the one who pushes Aemond to stolen stares.

Throughout the entire first breakfast, Aemond notices your silence, save for the exchanged greetings with his family. You sit there, a quiet presence, devouring your fruit like a meek little mouse. But that changes when your eyes meet his as you take a bite of your seventh strawberry, juices painting your chin.

The instant tightening in his groin made it clear to him the effect of locking eyes with you amid such an innocently obscene act. Partnered with the thoughts that cloud his mind, a potent blend of desire and bewilderment. “Why are you looking at me like that with your husband next to you? Why haven't you cleaned your stained mouth, girl? Do you wish for me to see you so messy like this? You must be, because it’s fucking working.”

He clears his throat, abruptly excusing himself from the meal to "freshen up" before his daily training. However, the moment the door to his chambers shuts behind him, Aemond's hand finds its way to his throbbing cock, his mind consumed by thoughts of you. Your perfect, plump lips and the tantalizing manner in which they embrace the fruit ignite his imagination, pushing him to a sinful release.

A heavy guilt nags at him for being so taken by a seemingly innocent noblewoman, his brother’s wife, no less. You were only eating fucking fruit, for the Gods' sake, harmless and innocent. Aemond feels he either has a hint of that infamous Targaryen madness, or that you are an enchantress sent to claim his very soul.

Be as it may, day after day, this torment at breakfast persists, your presence haunting his mind like a mesmerizing siren's song. He finds himself trapped in a perpetual state of sexual purgatory, a secret known only to Aemond, himself.

While his mother and grandfather engage in discussions of kingdom matters, Aemond's attention remains fixated on you. Every. Single. Day. He’s there, across from you, observing your luscious, pouty mouth as it savors the sweetness of the fruits you eat.

The One-Eyed Prince has a particular fondness for mornings when you choose to eat stone fruits, such as red nectarines or the succulent Myrish plums that were recently gifted to the King. He likes how the plump fruits nestle perfectly within the cradle of your delicate hands, their shape bearing a striking resemblance to something more…intimate. As well as the deep burgundy juices that stain your delectable mouth, making it look utterly kissable.

Some days you opt for a green apple, each bite slow and tortuous, and the Prince often finds his eye averting to your ample bosom peeking over the neckline of your dress. You make it easy though, listening intently, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table to bring the fruit to your lips with grace.

However, Aemond notices that you have been playing a game with him all along on one morning in particular. One with Aegon failing to join the family for breakfast like usual, and even neglecting to return from his escapades in Flea Bottom the previous night.

The glint in your mischievous eyes told Aemond everything.

Those teasing orbs remain fixated on him, locked in as your lips encircle a dark red cherry, delicately plucking it from its stem. A smirk dances upon your lips, a playful sparkle illuminating your every feature while you savor the fruit, allowing its crimson juices to paint your mouth and tongue bloody-red. With effortless elegance, you remove the pit from your mouth, your fingers grazing your lips before depositing it into a tarnish silver bowl.

“Want one, my Prince?” you ask in a honeyed voice. “They’re awfully sweet today.”

Unamused, Aemond only purses his lips as if he’s tasted a sour lemon, brows knitting in annoyance, and shakes his platinum blonde head a terse “no.”

As you continue indulging from the bowl, a playful exchange of glances ensues between the two of you, a secret language spoken through hungry stares, while The Hand and Queen Alicent discuss the perils of pirates in the Iron Islands.

You both cared naught.

His hands clench the armrests of his chair, the strain causing his knuckles to turn white. Each movement you made this day looks methodic to Aemond, like you have intent behind every single cherry you eat. ‘Twas an intent to taunt your good brother, most definitely.

Though, to what end? Aemond did not know.

Desperate to divert his attention from you, he focuses on his eggs for a bit, gripping the silverware with increasing intensity, but all too quickly your gaze captures his once again.

His intense stare shifts to the scarlet cherry you teasingly play with between your parted lips once more, forming a tempting 'O,' your tongue darting out seductively back and forth a couple times. But the sudden, thunderous slam on the table shatters the spell.

The room falls into a hushed silence, startled by Aemond's abrupt outburst, until a “clank” of the fork he had just been holding falls onto the table. From the looks of it, his grip had bent it backwards, nearly snapping the utensil in two.

“My son, are you well?”Alicent inquires, a hint of concern in her brow.

“I am fine, Mother. Though, you should order the smiths to forge sturdier utensils, these are in poor condition.”

You have to chuckle to yourself for the way Aemond presents himself as the ever-dutiful son in his conversation with his mother, but the moment he settles upon you, his lilac eye darkens almost black. There's an intensity, a predatory aura that emanates from him, as if he possesses the power to set you ablaze with his penetrating one-eyed glower.

Breakfast continues without further question and as the meal draws to a close, you maintain your gaze fixated on the cherries before you. Others start to disperse, each occupied by their own duties and responsibilities, but lingering silence envelops the space until you look up to see Aemond, of course, lingering behind. The two of you lock on each other like formidable predators sizing one another up until he breaks the pregnant silence, his voice carrying a low, magnetic draw:

"Careful, good sister," Aemond's words tinged with warning and seduction. "One could mistake your gaze upon me as beguiling. Need I remind you that I am not the Prince you wed?"

You scoff, defiantly circling the table to stand in front of him, drawn to his towering presence like a moth to flame. His scent of brimstone and leather envelops you, intoxicating and irresistible.

"And has yours on me been any different?" you retort, your own voice carrying a hint of sultry challenge. “Every morning you look like you could inhale me if the opportunity presented itself.”

Aemond grunts, closing the distance between you in a few swift strides until your back hits the cold stone wall. His hands rest firmly on your shoulders, his face mere inches from yours.

His breath dances across your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Aemond," you whisper, a hint of desperation in your voice. "Someone could walk in at any moment!"

But he remains unyielding, his grip tightening as if to assert his dominance. Like he is choosing to be the predator, making you the prey, and your heart races in anticipation.

For a moment, he is silent, nostrils flaring and his teeth gently taking in his lower lip, a primal hunger shining in his eye. Until he finally speaks, his voice a low murmur.

"You certainly do not act so coy when everyone else is here. I see the way you try to seduce me. As a matter of fact, I think you revel in the knowledge that you could get caught. But what about now, when it's just the two of us? What will you do? Won't you toy or take the bait?" Aemond taunts, his smugness palpable. He leans into it, his warm breath grazing your ear as he whispers, his voice laced with both seduction and superiority. "You started this little game, and now you can't seem to finish it. ‘Tis pathetic, really."

His words ignite a fire within you, a determination no longer willing to be belittled. You launch yourself off the wall, surprising Aemond as you push him back against the feasting table. A confident look dances in your eyes slowly lowering your knees to the floor, maintaining locked gazes with him.

In this moment, you are consumed by your own desires—unyielding, craving, and somewhat irritated.

Aemond doesn't resist, a sly smile playing on his lips as he stands there looking down at you, his drape of silver hair framing his face and arms folded behind him, eagerly awaiting your next move. Your hands ghostly brush over the prominent bulge that strains against his black trousers.

"Ah, but it appears that you're the one who is hard as stone at the mere sight of me. No preparation necessary," you purr out, a finger tracing the edge of his pants as you gaze up into his intense, darkened eye. "Do you truly believe that I am the pitiful one here, good brother?”

If anyone were to walk through those doors, they would witness Aegon's new little wife surrendering to the depths of her good brother’s desires. The table remains cluttered with remnants of the meal, and the possibility of servants entering the room looms in the air, yet, you both seem to care less for the consequences.

Without protest, he allows you to swiftly untie his trousers, a deep groan escapes Aemond's lips as his hardened member springs forth from its confinement. Your hand envelops his length, the sensation causing him to twitch and harden even more in your grasp.

It becomes evident that Aemond is indeed blessed with a longer and thicker cock compared to Aegon, a fact that amuses you. While not massive, the younger Targaryen prince boasts a good size and girth, complemented by a pair of substantial stones as plump as your fruits at its base.

Down on your knees, your finger traces a path along a prominent vein that protrudes from his swollen member, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction. Aemond’s expression remains unchanged, anticipatory, prompting you to maintain playful eye contact as your flat tongue leisurely follows the same vein your finger just explored. You continue the movement a couple of times up and down.

The slight twitch of his cock and the hissed utter calling you a "tease" that escapes his lips confirm that you have him right where you want him.

You part your moist, cherry-flavored lips, engulfing his entire thickness in your mouth, feeling Aemond's hand rest on the back of your head to guide you. You take him deeper and deeper, until the head of his member brushes against the back of your throat. His other hand finds support on the table to steady himself. As you bob your head, hollowing your cheeks, your hand jerks along his shaft, while your fingers playfully squeeze his stones.

"Fuck, f-fuck," the Prince groans, his head falling back in surrender to your skillful mouth and hands.

Aemond tastes slightly salty, and when combined with the fruity essence of your mouth, it creates an addictive flavor that you are content to consume for the rest of your days.

For several minutes, the distant cawing of seagulls outside accompanied by the salacious smacking noises coming from your mouth on Aemond’s member, and his own stifled grunting created a lewd symphony of noises throughout the dining room. The fervent moment abruptly interrupted by the resounding creak of the large wooden doors swinging open.

You pause with Aemond’s cock down your throat and make no effort to move when the light steps walk in, your crouched figure at least hidden by Aemond’s massive figure who has his back to the door. Whoever the person is, they do not get far as Aemond instantly grits out a stern “Leave. NOW.” followed by the scurried steps and the muttered apologies from an unsuspecting handmaid.

When you are alone again, Aemond pulls your head back only to find your glistening mouth smirking up at him. You stop him with a palm as tries to put his cock away, the action making his purple eye narrow suspiciously at you.

“You liked that, didn’t you? I knew it. You like nearly being caught,” he insists, and you roll your eyes in silent response, continuing to lick the length of his shaft. “You are a filthy, rotten, thing. They could have your tongue for this–your life even–yet you still want to finish me off.”

You give sweet quick kisses along his length and nod up to him smiling with wide doe eyes.

Aemond's gaze transforms into something primal as his hand returns to your head, cock slipping into your wide open mouth at a quicker pace now. He begins bucking his hips and ruts into your mouth faster and faster, the Prince hits your sensitive gag reflex at a relentless pace, your jaw slack, tears blurring your eyes in momentary cock bliss.

“Mm, feels incredible,” he mumbles, sucking a breath in at the feeling of fucking into your mouth. "Getting close.”

As much as you enjoy being gagged by Aemond’s cock, you want to retain control in the situation. Make him a whimpering idiot. So you slow him down by pulling your mouth off of him.

Instead, you put continuous intense focus on the cockhead, flicking your tongue lightly over the leaking hole then harshly suctioning your lips around the glistening pink dome. Your tongue swirls around the foreskin mercilessly, you glance your glossy, tear-stained eyes up to his flushed face with a fierce smolder as your other hand tugs and squeezes his stones. You were well aware this gesture mixed with your eye contact could and probably would unravel him. After all, it had worked on Aegon, so why wouldn't it work on his little brother?

A smirking satisfaction fills you when you actually hear little whimpers fall from Aemond’s lips. Who is the pathetic one now, my dear Prince?

“O-Oh, I-I’m gonna come.”

And, as if on queue, you feel the hot release of his cum spill from the cockhead taking him all the way down your throat one last time. You hum out proudly, looking up to Aemond whose eye is jammed shut, a string of moans still sputtering from his lips while you swallow his juices. Once you milk him for all he was worth, you take him out of your mouth with a bawdy pop! noise.

"Did that satisfy you enough, good brother?" you taunt, a sly smile playing on your buzzing wet lips. "I really think so. Your seed sliding down my throat is proof. Pathetic, really."

A dazed Aemond chuckles with a tinge of adoring fondness in his eye at you, his touch gentle as he takes your jaw into his hand. His thumb tenderly wiped away the drool and cum from your red lips and some that dribbled down your chin.

"Gods, look at you," he murmurs almost lovingly, a slight shake in his voice. "Tell me, how am I supposed to act any differently when I'm confronted with such a delectable view every day?"

But you stand up without a word, smoothing out your wrinkled gown and regaining your composure. With swollen lips, you plant a quick kiss on Aemond's cheek, a gesture both playful, affectionate, and withholding.

You give him a sweet smile before you turn on your heel and continue about your day, a confident satisfaction in your stride.

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🌜A/N2: Pleaaaase I hope this was good lol...I haven't given a bj in a long time and my ex used to tell me I needed to practice wtf Anyway! Thank you for reading. Any likes, comments, and reblogs you feel compelled to give are greatly cherished. See you next time! Main Masterlist

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mybrainismadeofcottons · 11 months

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"Not Made Of Glass" - Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

a/n: from an anon request, enjoy 🤭❤️

Summary: Tired of being treated like porcelain by your brother-husband, you resort to drastic measures to wake his inner dragon.

TW: canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, spanking, pussy slapping, choking, fingering, face fucking, oral m and f receiving, pussy spitting thigh riding, size kink, breeding kink, p in v sex, jealousy, dom aemond, brat taming, degradation, ye olde bondage, overstim

Word Count: 4,050 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

You know that you’re spoiled. Your father spoils you, his youngest daughter, while neglecting most of his other children. Your mother spoils you, eyes glowing with love as she speaks of how you take more after the Hightowers than the Targaryens with your looks. Your eldest brother Aegon adores you, easily his favorite of his siblings. Your sister Helaena fawns over you. Your twin Daeron was much the same when he was in King’s Landing. But none spoiled you as much as your beloved brother, Aemond.

All your life, Aemond has treated you like a princess. He’s showered you with love and affection, with gifts and adoration. His darling little sister. While he’s harsh and cold with others, he has never been that way with you, not once. When Daeron was sent to be fostered in Oldtown, he remembers the way he held you as you cried, shushing you and wiping your tears, vowing to you that he would not let you feel Daeron’s absence so painfully, that he would be there for you. And he was.

With how close the two of you grew, it was little surprise to anyone when you were betrothed to your brother in the tradition of House Targaryen. The betrothal was announced shortly after Helaena’s own wedding to Aegon, and the date was set for your eight and tenth nameday, when Aemond would be two and twenty. The day of your wedding was the happiest of your life. You recall the love with which Aemond gazed upon you as you stood before the Septon at his side, pledging your loyalty and devotion to each other. You recall the way he angrily demanded every witness to the wedding ceremony leave your newly shared chambers, lest they wish to be fed to Vhagar as a midnight snack.

When he took your maidenhead, he was gentle, panicking the moment you winced with discomfort. He peppered kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, apologizing profusely, offering to stop. You shook your head and simply requested that he go slowly, that he allow you to get used to the sensation of your bodies joining as one. And after he did so, you realized that your pain had faded and pleasure was quickly taking its place. Aemond made love to you that night with every ounce of adoration he possessed, continuing to do so nearly every night - and sometimes even more than that - throughout your marriage.

It’s now been nearly one year since the two of you were wed, and you still remain as blissful as a newlywed couple would be. But, a part of you wishes that Aemond would stop treating you like this fragile, breakable thing made of glass. You’ve heard stories from your lady’s maids, from the other noblewomen at court, about how very passionate the act of making love can be. You know Aemond treats you delicately because he adores you so, but as you make your way to the feasting hall, you decide tonight shall be different. Tonight, you’ll awaken the dragon that lies dormant inside of him.

You’re dressed in a beautiful gown, Dornish silk trimmed with Myrish lace that shows off a generous bit of your cleavage, perhaps a bit too generous for your Mother’s taste, with a tightly laced bodice that you hope will capture your husband’s attention. However, as the dinner that your poor father arranged in hopes of mending the bonds between the two warring factions of your family goes on, you note that your brother seems more interested in antagonizing your nephews than paying any mind to your pretty new dress.

Jace, however, seems to notice your displeasure, the pout on your lips as you look at your brother-husband, and crosses the room to you as the minstrels begin to play a tune, “May I have this dance, sweet Aunt?” he smiles at you softly, “Your gown is beautiful. It suits you perfectly.”

You were never extremely close with Jace in your childhood, rather spending most of your time with Aemond or Helaena, but you never bore him any ill will. He was always kind to you growing up, and having someone notice your dress makes you quite happy. You nod and stand, ignoring Aemond’s confused glare, taking Jace’s hand and moving towards an empty part of the hall. He rests his hand on your waist, taking your own hand with the other, and begins to lead you in a slow dance, smiling at you in his soft, sweet way.

“You’re a far better dancer than you are a swordsman, Nephew,” you tease good-naturedly, causing him to laugh, “Does it strike you as odd that I am your aunt and yet we’re the same age?”

“We even shared a wetnurse, you, Daeron, and me,” Jace chuckles, “So, yes, it is a bit strange.”

Aemond watches, seething with envy at how little Lord Strong makes you laugh and smile, and stands up from his seat. He strides toward you with purpose, intent on stopping this with haste. You notice Jace glancing over your shoulder as the two of you dance, soon hearing the sound of Aemond’s black leather boots as they scuff the floor. You turn toward your husband, gasping slightly when he grabs you by the hips, pulling you in toward him, a display of both dominance and affection that is not meant for the eyes of all present, rather, only for you.

“Husband,” you gaze up at him through your lashes, an act which he’s always found to be impossible to resist.

“Husband, hm?” Aemond questions, his lips curving into a sardonic grin as he continues to hold you by the hips, hands sliding up to your waist and squeezing softly, “Is this how you behave when I don’t give you all of my attention every waking moment? Flirting with that fool?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen Aemond display any sort of jealousy, at least openly. And you can’t help but find it attractive.

“Are you jealous, brother?” you tease.

The look in Aemond’s eye is certainly one of jealousy, of passion and desire as his hand trails upward to twirl a lock of your hair between his fingers, “Maybe so, dear sister. Is laughing with that dolt more pleasing than your darling brother’s company?”

“Mayhaps,” you hum, “The dolt has grown into quite the handsome young man, hasn’t he?”

Aemond’s jealousy only increases with your teasing as he moves even closer to you, your chest brushing against his, “Handsome, yet a fool and a bastard,” he states, lowering his head close to yours, whispering in your ear, “The only man you should think handsome here is me.”

“I don’t know about that,” you glance over at the table before adding, “Aegon is quite handsome too, husband.”

Aemond raises a brow, bringing one hand up to trace your cheekbone with his thumb, “So you find our brother more pleasing than I? Is that truly the case, dear sister?”

“Mayhaps,” you say again, barely biting back a grin.

Aemond frowns at your words before suddenly pulling you closer and whispering in your ear, “Then I’ll prove otherwise.”

Before you can say another word, your brother drags you off toward your chambers, fire in his eye as he glares at Jace and then Aegon as the two of you leave the hall, Aemond making a quick excuse to your mother that you feel ill.

“Aemy, what are you doing-” you cut yourself off with a yelp when he heaves you over his shoulder the moment you leave the feasting hall and are out of sight of the rest of your family, “Aemond!”

“Reminding you who you belong to,” Aemond states as though it is the simplest thing in the world, continuing toward your shared chambers, “I’ve been far too lenient with you, little sister,” he says as he kicks open the door and unceremoniously tosses you onto the bed.

“I was only teasing,” you protest, gazing up at him, pouting slightly.

“You were being a little brat,” Aemond corrects, gripping your chin in his hand as he stares down at you, “And do you know what happens to little brats, perzītsos.”

You feel your cheeks warm at the way he gazes at you, calling you his little flame, your thighs pressed together in anticipation of what he’s going to say next, “No, but I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me…”

“Brats get punished,” he says quietly, “Now, part those pretty lips of yours and stick out your tongue.”

You look up at him in confusion for a moment but do as he says, feeling unusually small in front of him as he stands over you while you sit on the bed. He’s always been on the tall side, but right now, you can’t help but find his size advantage over you to be quite exciting. The idea that he could easily overpower you, bend you to his will. You part your lips and stick your tongue out, only to gasp when Aemond spits on your tongue, demanding you swallow it. You feel somewhat humiliated by the action, but all that does is send another wave of heat through your body as you swallow his saliva, opening your mouth to show him you’ve done as he asked when he demands it of you.

“If only you’d been a good girl like this at dinner,” he clicks his tongue, “Then I wouldn’t have to punish you.”

This is exactly what you’d hoped for, you think to yourself, for him to treat you like a woman, like the dragon you are rather than some trembling maiden. You gaze up at him excitedly, your lower lip moving between your teeth as Aemond undoes his breeches slightly, exposing his long, veiny cock to you, already hard as he stares at you expectantly. You slide down to the foot of the bed and take him into your mouth, gasping when he holds you in place by the hair, tugging at your locks almost painfully as he begins rutting against your mouth.

Aemond stares down at you, bucking his hips against your mouth, reveling in the way you gaze up at him with those doe eyes through your lashes. Loving how your lips look as they envelop his cock and the way you sound as you gag on it, barely able to handle it.

“Tap my thigh three times if you need me to stop,” he manages to hiss between the movement of his hips, feeling himself getting closer and closer to his own end, “Fuck, such a smart little mouth you have. It looks so much better when you’re choking on my cock.”

He feels you moan around him, your hands moving to cup his stones, massaging them slightly, which sends him spilling into your mouth. He stares down at you, his voice firm as he demands.

“Swallow every bit of my seed like a good little wife. Don’t let it go to waste.”

You eagerly comply, opening your mouth to prove your adherence to his instructions. Aemond smirks, satisfied with himself before pulling you to your feet. You stare at him in confusion for a moment before you realize this is a silent command for you to undress, which you do so eagerly. Your nimble fingers deftly undo the bodice of your dress, allowing it to fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, leaving you in only your small clothes.

Aemond stares at you, arms crossed, expectant, “All of it,” you move to rid yourself of them, but appear to be taking too long for your husband’s taste, considering he removes his dagger from his pocket and merely slices the straps of the garment off, his good eye widening with delight as he watches it fall to the floor, revealing you to him, “Good.”

He remains dressed, taking a seat on the bed and pulling you onto his lap, laying you across it on your stomach, much to your surprise. You crane your neck back to look at him only to feel the sting of his hand flying against your rear. You let out a yelp of surprise at the feeling.

“Aemond,” you whine, “What was that for?”

“If you want to act like a fucking brat,” he says, punctuating his words with another spank, the sensation being both slightly painful and completely erotic, “Then I’ll treat you like one and take you over my knee and spank you.”

He lets his hand fly once more, then again, admiring the way your supple flesh jiggles against his strikes, your skin reddening after each one. Aemond sees you rub your legs together, desperate for friction and realizes that, rather than taking this as a punishment, rather, you’re enjoying this. He spanks you once more, enjoying the tiny little whimpers you let out, before moving his fingers to trace your wet cunny.

“Pathetic,” he chides, “You’re supposed to be learning a lesson, and here you are. Soaked like a Silk Street whore.”

You let out a strangled gasp as he slaps you between your legs, “Aemond!”

“No,” he shakes his head, fingers teasing you once more, “You’ll call me ‘Your Grace’ tonight, you little harlot. Are we clear?”

You don’t speak at first, too shocked - and aroused - at his words to form a coherent response, when he slaps your cunt once more, right on your pearl, making you cry out as he demands an answer, “Yes, Your Grace.”

Aemond pulls you by the hair to sit up, a mocking smile on his lips, “Now, be a good girl and thank me for spanking you, for disciplining you.”

You feel him beneath you, already hard again, your mouth watering at the idea of what else he has in store for you, moaning softly at his tugging your hair once more, the dull ache of it merely adding to your excitement, “Thank you for spanking me, Your Grace.”

He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your neck, biting down on your flesh, leaving his mark to remind you who you belong to, who you will always belong to. You squirm against him as he does, feeling his tongue lave attention over your abused skin before his lips meet yours in a searing kiss. He bites down on your lower lip, moving his tongue into your mouth when you gasp, allowing it to dance against yours as he explores every bit of it. You feel him maneuver your body so that you straddle his thigh, your cunt pressed up against the fabric of his breeches. And then? He begins bouncing you up and down on his thigh.

“Ride my leg, you wanton little thing,” he demands, glaring down at you, removing his eyepatch and setting it aside, allowing you to gaze upon his remaining eye and his sapphire with awe, “Bring yourself to your peak and I may consider fucking you.”

You immediately begin grinding yourself against his thigh, moaning at the feeling of the coarse fabric of his clothes against your skin, focusing on your pearl, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as you chase your peak. Aemond watches, his large hands splayed across your ass, squeezing your flesh, still tender from his earlier punishment. You feel him grab your hips and begin to set the pace, bouncing his leg in tandem with your movements, bringing you closer and closer to the edge until you reach your peak with a loud moan.

Aemond sits up and pushes you back onto the bed, hovering over you as he removes his tunic, revealing his alabaster skin, every old scar and bruise from his many hours spent training with Ser Criston enthralling you completely. Aemond moves to sit on his haunches between your legs, spreading your thighs with his hands, admiring you. You’d feel self conscious if it weren’t for the absolute look of hunger and desperation in his eye, making you feel like the most desired woman in the realm. Aemond appears to think to himself for a moment before grabbing his discarded tunic and using it to bind your hands to the bed, giving you a wolfish smile as you stare at him in confusion.

“If you wish for me to untie you, to stop at any point,” he says, “Say the word zaldrizes, my love.”

You nod, gazing up at him, excited for what he has planned for you. Your husband has of course used his mouth to pleasure you before, bringing you to your peak as he moans about how divine you taste, but tonight is different. Tonight, he stares up at you from between your legs with a hooded gaze as he spits on your cunt, the sensation making you whimper slightly as he delves his tongue deep inside you, his nose rubbing against your pearl as he laps at your folds. When he realizes how much you enjoy that feeling, he smirks against you and nuzzles his nose against you slightly more firmly, enjoying the way you nearly sob out his name. And you’re helpless to do anything but writhe beneath him, unable to tangle your hands in his hair as you usually do, unable to do anything save for mewling his name as he moans against you, the vibration of his voice adding another dimension of pleasure. Still sensitive from your last peak, it doesn’t take Aemond long to send you toppling over the edge once more, spilling yourself on his tongue.

He’s nowhere near finished with you, moving his mouth to your sensitive pearl, making you cry out, “Your Grace, please, I need you-”

“You’ll take what I give you,” Aemond hisses, landing a slap on your sensitive cunny, making you whimper, “And you’ll enjoy it.”

He suckles at your sensitive nub, holding your thighs apart with his hands as you try to squirm away from him, driving you absolutely mad with desire. It’s almost too much, the way he overwhelms your senses, his lips wrapped around your sensitive button as he stares up at you, a silent command to keep looking at him. He then moves his tongue along your pearl, making you let out a moan as he brings you to your peak once, then twice against his tongue until your thighs are shaking, your body covered with a thin sheen of sweat, barely able to say or think of anything but him.

Aemond moves off of you for but a moment, ridding himself off his breeches before crawling over you once more, head tilted to the side as he muses in an infuriatingly condescending voice, “I don’t know that you’ve earned my cock yet, little one. Let’s see how you take my fingers.”

Little one. You’ve always hated that name, being reminded that you’re smaller than him, but right now, it only serves to arouse you more. You feel him tease your core with one finger before pushing it inside you, making you let out a whine at the intrusion to your already achingly sensitive cunt. He curves his finger in a come hither motion and begins moving it in and out of you, adding a second finger, making you buck your hips against his hand helplessly. You pout as he grabs your hip with his free hand, holding you in place as he adds a third finger, moving them in and out of you, setting the pace he desires, his thumb rubbing at your pearl, smirking at the wet sounds coming from you as he teases your sweet spot, tears forming in your eyes at the sensation. It doesn’t take much for him to bring you to your fifth peak of the night, crying out his name desperately as he removes his fingers from you, pressing them to your lips, a silent demand for you to lick them clean, which you do.

“Now, I think I’ll fuck you,” he grins, running the head of his cock along your entrance, chuckling as you squirm away, oversensitized and overstimulated but still desperate for him, “My poor little wife, are you too tired? Do you wish for me to stop?” he mocks, slapping your pearl with the head of his cock.

You cry out, desperate and nearly sobbing, “No, Your Grace, please, I need you!”

Aemond sheathes himself inside you with a low groan, “So fucking tight for me, aren’t you? Only for me.”

You moan as he buries himself inside you to the hilt, staying like that for a moment before he begins rutting against you at a brutal pace, watching as you squirm beneath him, enjoying the sight, you struggling against your bindings, helpless to do anything as he fucks you.

“Could that little Strong bastard fuck you like this?” he growls, his hand moving to grab your throat, restricting your airflow ever so slightly making you gasp, “Answer me.”

“No, only you, Aemond,” you whine pitifully, feeling your walls flutter around him with each thrust, “Always you, only you, no one else.”

He squeezes slightly harder, pounding into you relentlessly, enjoying the way you squeeze around him as you near your peak yet again, “You belong to me, wife. Say it.”

“I belong to you,” you squeal as his cock hits your sweet spot, “Oh gods, Aemond, there, fuck-”

You reach your peak around him once more and gaze up at him when he pushes your knees up to your chest, moving your legs over his shoulders as he fucks into you deeper, more intensely than before, staring down at you, his gaze burning you to your very core.

“I’m going to breed you,” he snarls in your ear, biting down on your earlobe gently, before speaking again, “Going to spill my seed inside you, going to watch you grow fat with my babe. And then all those cunts, Jacaerys, Aegon, all of them will know it is me you belong to, well and truly.”

“Yes, Aemond,” you say weakly, gazing up at him, helpless to do anything but take the pleasure he gives you, his cock bullying against your sweet spot again, fucking you with abandon, “I belong to you and only you.”

He feels you squeezing around him once more, making it nearly impossible for him to move. Aemond continues rutting against you, pressing your knees to your chest as he gazes into your eyes, letting out a low moan as you reach your peak around him once more, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural groan as he reaches his own end. You two stay like that for a moment, breathless and gazing at each other before Aemond pulls out of you, only to replace his cock with his fingers, smirking slightly.

“Can’t waste it.”

You laugh breathlessly as he calls for a servant to bring you some water and towels, cuddling into him as he undoes your makeshift binding, “You… That was amazing.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, immediately reverting to the kind, caring husband whom you so adore, “I was just-”

“Aemond, I wanted you to be rough with me,” you tell him softly, “It’s the only reason I riled you up like that. I wanted you to realize that I’m not made of glass. I’m the blood of the dragon as much as you are,” you rest your hand against his face as he rests his forehead against yours, “Your love is that of a dragon, as is mine. It is intense, but I can take it.”

Aemond nods, kissing you, losing himself in your embrace, your arms wrapping around each other, completely oblivious to your surroundings as the servants bring in what Aemond requested.

“Would you care for a bath, my beautiful wife?” Aemond presses a kiss to your forehead, “I think we’ve both made quite a mess of ourselves, and mayhaps,” he gives you a mischievous grin, “We can do so again.”

You giggle as he lifts you into his arms, carrying you over to the bath and nod, “I love you, Aemond.”

“And I love you,” he whispers, his lips finding yours again, “More than words could ever hope to express. As Aegon loved Visenya, as Jaehaerys loved Alysanne, that is how the historians will say I loved you.”

You smile at Aemond, kissing him once more, the two of you utterly content.

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mybrainismadeofcottons · 11 months

Text

prūmia hen zaldrīzes.

"heart of the dragon" Prince Aemond Targaryen x f!Lannister!reader

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 8,317 content: reader is a Lannister but is not given a specific description, Aemond is so salty and petty, arranged marriage, infidelity, smut [v fingering, f receiving oral, unprotected p in v, creampie], kinks [biting, scratching, breeding] summary: When he is forced to watch his twin flame marry his brother, Aemond finds a solution for coping other than burning it all to the ground.

King’s Landing, 120 AC

“I’m sorry for your eye, Prince Aemond,” you whispered, your voice quiet and sincere as the boy you’d spent so many years of your childhood with avoided your gaze with the perfect eye he still had. “I came as soon as I was told what happened.”

All he could muster was a firm nod, the sweet boy you often encountered now tucked away inside crushing self-consciousness as he sat before you. Still, despite his unease at his bandaged face, he found it within himself to remark the pride he felt for himself. “I lost an eye but gained a dragon. I would make the trade again.”

You had to smile at his subtle insistence to impress you, to cover the aura of dread he seemed to be exuding. “A worthy trade indeed, my prince.”

His good eye finally found your face, his harsh resolve fading at the softness that covered your features. Only months younger than Aemond and the sole daughter of Lord Lannister, you had spent much of your childhood in the Red Keep beside the Targaryen children. With your father’s place at Viserys’ Court, you spent more time at the Capital than within the walls of Casterly Rock, and while Helaena had always been a wonderful friend, it was Aemond you often found yourself beside. Now, at the darkest night in his life, it would be no different, and the gratitude shown through his features. He could never hide his truest self from you.

“My face doesn’t make you want to scream?” he questioned, the anger at his own mutilation doing wonders at hiding the genuine concern he felt at how you’d respond to his new appearance – even as a child, Aemond always basked in your approval.

“Only because you must be in pain,” you reassured, your soft voice sincere in ways no one else ever was with him. His gaze lingered on yours for a moment, almost as if he was waiting for you to laugh, so used to being on the receiving end of a joke these days but was met only with your kindness as your warm hand covered his own. With the subtlest of squeezes, you quieted your voice to barely above a whisper. “I shall put out Lucerys’ eye for your next name day.”

For the first time since the incident Aemond felt his lips curve into a light smile, anxiety’s grasp on his heart lightening. “Viserys says Lord Strong is not to be hurt,” he remarked, the distaste for his father’s decision and forsaking of his own son shining through his voice. “It is an embarrassment. It is shameful. I will have to sit here and have my bandages changed daily by…”

“Me,” you offered, your voice earnest and hopeful. If it would not cause him pain his eyebrows would have pulled together in visible bewilderment – why anyone would offer to see him in the state he was in was beyond him. You offered a gentle smile and gave his hand another squeeze, repeating your offer to help him understand. “I will have the Maester teach me the proper way tomorrow, and then I will do it for you, Aemond.”

It would both confuse and comfort Aemond every day for the coming months when you found your way to his door promptly, gentle hands providing a better, more caring bandaging than anyone else had offered.

King’s Landing, 123 AC

“He is insufferable,” Aemond gritted through his teeth, his jaw popping in irritation as he fought to remain composed before you. You had seen him in much worse states than this in your younger years when he had less of a cool control over his emotions, but it had been quite some time since you had heard this tone behind his words. “Laughing at me because I don’t wish to bed whores like he does.”

“He is only jealous because he has to pay people to like him, my Prince,” you spoke, coming to sit beside him before his fireplace. His good eye met your gaze, the smallest bit of his frustration dissipating under your gentle expression.

The years that had passed since he had lost his eye had only pulled the two of you closer together, your own mother having passed due to fever. Pained by the resemblance you bore to your mother, your father had all but abandoned you at the Red Keep – any time apart from one another was due to Aemond’s absence, not your own. In a world where both of you found backs turned to you, you always found one another – the familiarity so comforting it was impossible to give up.

“Even still, my lady – his words have point,” he spoke, falling into the sweetness you presented him with. Resting your hand on top of his between the two of you, you held onto his every word – ever the one to make him feel important and desired. “I am thirteen and, according to Aegon, I’m hardly even a man because I won’t let one of his whores kiss me.”

The silence lingered as you soaked in his words, the crackling of the fireplace lulling you into a comfortable state. With his hand beneath yours you were once again reminded how warm Aemond was, and how it always seemed to invite you closer whether you were conscious of it or not. “Is it truly so important to have been kissed?”

“I care more for other things,” he stated simply, while inside his mind he found no calm. “But I do wish to have a reason to quiet him.”

A nod confirmed your understanding, a quiet hum leaving your lips in approval. Without much more than a minute of thought you leaned across to him, pressing your lips to his in a chaste, delicate and inexperienced kiss. Aemond, always quick to action, found for the first time in a long time he was caught off guard, frozen to his place as you gifted him (and yourself) his first kiss.

The next time Aegon taunted his younger brother for having not been kissed over dinner, Aemond was proud to report that he had, in fact. Despite the queen turning her head to analyze her son’s proud expression, she hadn’t missed the redness to your cheeks or the quick giggle you had to silence. Though she very easily could have, Alicent Hightower kept the kiss a shared secret – even from the two of you.

King’s Landing, Winter 128 AC

Lowering your cloak’s hood and taking a step into the darkness you found yourself being pushed toward the stone wall, familiar hands grasping your shoulders. As you turned your gaze upward to take in the sight of his shining blue eye and eye patch you found the harshness of his expression.

“What are you doing? Have you lost all sanity?” he questioned, leaning his face closer to yours. Now that he was a teenager, he had begun to tower over you, his height serving an obvious intimidation advantage.

“I wanted to see you so I…I snuck through the castle and the city to here, and I thought…I’d find you down here,” you explained, your rationale doing nothing to soothe his pounding heart. “I’ve often wondered what the lower parts of the dragon pit were like.”

“I have heard curiosity often kills the cat,” he replied, one of his hands leaving your shoulder to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently against the expanse of your cheek. “Dovodedha kēlītsos…this is no place for you.”

It was impossible not to lean into his hand more, embracing the warmth you so often craved these days. As Aemond grew older and responsibility loomed on his head, his hours training and hunting and flying grew, time away from you being a cruel result of that. And for your part, you had been returned to Casterly Rock a year prior due to your father wishing to keep you closer again, wishing to fend off those who sought betrothal to you, remarking often that none of them were good enough for his daughter. The most contact you’d received from your closest companion was through raven or middleman, the occasional visit atop Vhagar from him – when he had the time.

The moment you’d arrived in King’s Landing you’d wanted to see Aemond. And truth be told, if he had known of your arrival beforehand, there would have been nothing to keep him from greeting you. Your intention to surprise him by not giving warning of your visit had backfired, but Helaena had rescued the day by telling you where to find her brother. This close you could see the slick sweat to his brow, the subtle flare to his nostrils that signified his annoyance.

It was a secondary feeling – what he truly felt was concern.

“And yet I am still alive before you, unharmed, my Prince,” you taunted, your voice low and smooth and brimming with joy at being so near to him again. His hand on your cheek slid further, fingers entangling in your hair gently to refamiliarize himself with the texture.

“Only because I found you first, kēlītsos.”

“I wanted to be found.”

The smallest smile formed on his lips, a gentle shake to his head further proving his amusement. “I have missed you and your recklessness. You truly have the bravery of a lion, though I doubt you have the nine lives.”

His smile was returned by your own, your hands finding way to either side of his neck delicately. “I have missed you as well, Aemond,” you spoke quietly, fingernails grazing his skin lightly on the back of his neck and creating goosebumps across his skin.

Strong emotions rushing through him paired with the hormones of a teenager had him claiming your lips in a bruising kiss next, critical words lost to him as he lost himself in your features. This time, neither of you were caught off guard, the kiss returned immediately and met with a hum of approval. His grip on your hair tightened slightly as his tongue sought a taste of your lips, his own hum vibrating in his chest as your fingers found way to his hair as well.

As you allowed your jaw to relax and his tongue to enter your mouth his free hand grasped your hip, pulling your waist forward and into his, so he could grind his hardening cock into you, greedily swallowing the moan it pulled from you. Recognizing the danger that going further posed he was the one to reluctantly break the hungry kiss, and he who resisted kissing you again as he escorted you to the Red Keep.

If he had known taking you back to those who awaited you meant hearing his mother announce you were to marry Aegon, he would have fled with you atop Vhagar. Despite his best efforts, his family was still finding new ways to play jokes on him. This was the cruelest yet.

King’s Landing, Spring 129 AC

The months that followed were a harsh realization of your new reality.

Ever since, that day had been the first thought to your mind in the morning and the thing that you cried yourself to sleep over every night. Though Alicent Hightower’s announcement that the King had decided to honor tradition and name his eldest son the true heir to the crown (something you felt had to do with how heavily sedated and agreeable he was, not that you’d voice that opinion to any other than Aemond), it was the second part of her speech that ripped your heart from your chest. You would wed her eldest son and unify the crown and the Lannisters, a truly monumental occasion for the realm.

The words were those of two fathers – hers and your own – plotted with only greed in their hearts. Alicent did not relish in passing the news, and dreaded what it would do to her son, and yet that did not stop her from doing so. While you had attempted to make your objection to the match known, your words had no weight, and your future was decided behind your back. Aemond had returned to the Dragon Pit and did not return to the Red Keep for days. Even when he had returned, he would avoid you for the first time in your lives.

It took only months for the betrothal to move forward. With King Viserys the Peaceful dead by Spring and the Conqueror’s crown placed upon Aegon’s head, it become imperative to demonstrate to the people of Westeros that their new King was worthy of the throne his father had bestowed on him. This of course meant marrying a woman from a highly regarded family and bringing children into his bloodline (not that he hadn’t already).

“We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wi-“

The septon’s words were cut short by the familiar bellow of a creature far older than any other present, the familiar flap of impossibly large wings shooting a gust of wind directly over your wedding ceremony. The Queen of All Dragons landed with a harsh quake to the ground, your hand shooting out to the archway over you to steady yourself, Helaena rushing forward to assist you.

“You’re late to your own brother’s wedding, Aemond,” Alicent Hightower hissed through her teeth, attempting to maintain the smile she had plastered on her face as she watched her eldest son ignore the opportunity to assist his betrothed.

“Truthfully, mother, you should be lucky I am here at all,” the one-eyed prince replied, the sincerity behind his words unsurprising. “It is blasphemous. The one person in this world I truly care for, that I have no obligation to do so, and you stick her with my cunt of a brother.”

“Your words are treason, Aemond. Aegon is your king now,” she chastised, her glare fixating on him momentarily with the brief turn of her head.

“Apologies, mother – my cunt of a king,” he replied, stepping backward and away from further ridicule. His step was matched by his mother – one of two people he could never seem to hide from.

“Aemond…I know this is difficult for you, my sweet boy,” she began, her voice soft and diplomatic. A couple of years younger and he may have faltered, but not now. Not when he faced a waking nightmare before him. “I do hope that one day when you find a suitable wife for yourself, you will understand the decision we’ve made.”

“I will not find a suitable wife and I will not marry,” came his reply, voice unwavering and absolute. “If I am not to marry her, I am not to marry at all.”

“I have faith that you will see reason and change your mind.”

Aemond turned his face back to his mother, jaw popping in frustration as he did so. It was subtle, anyone unfamiliar with the prince would not notice the movement – his own mother did, of course. “The woman standing across from Aegon sat beside me while every stitch on my face was opened, the hole where my eye used to be pried apart, and a sapphire inserted into it. She never released my hand, she never looked away. And now you marry her to someone who can’t tell his own hand from a whore.”

“Be that as it may, it is done,” the former queen continued, the remorse in her voice showing itself slightly. She knew, all too well, what it was like to lose love because of duty. “We may talk about this more later, sweet boy.”

“There is no need, mother. As you say,” he continued, placing his arms behind his back carefully. “It is done.”

The remainder of the ceremony went without additional surprise. Aemond desperately wished to be free of this obligation, his annoyance showcased on his face regardless of whose eyes may have caught glimpse of him. His only comfort came from the look that remained on your face – solemn, unimpressed, unchanging; even when Aegon had kissed you. It was the first time Aemond had seen so very little of a reaction to one of his brother’s kisses, and the display of indifference both satisfied something deep with Aemond and caused his stomach to churn. Your wedding day should have been so much better than this – you deserved so much better than this, than Aegon.

It was a relief to his unsettled stomach when he saw you alone on a balcony during the feast to celebrate you – to celebrate the marriage and the new queen. Still, even with the food, the wine, and the gifts, Aemond had not seen your lips curl to a smile once the entire day. Though he wasn’t entirely certain he could contain himself from doing something foolish by claiming this moment of your attention, he opted to throw that caution to the wind. You were his to be foolish with.

He sauntered toward you with hands behind his back still, pleased when you turned as he approached within an arm’s length of you. For the first time all day he watched as you rivaled the full moon behind you with a smile.

“My Prince,” you greeted, eyes flashing up at him in profound appreciation.

“Your Grace,” he bowed his head slightly in return, a small smirk flashing on his features as he peered up at you between his lashes. He’d worn the eye patch you’d specifically had crafted for him in Lannisport – you had to wonder if it was an intentional show of your bond or not. He caught the way your eyes lingered, filled with uncertainty. Aemond was the first to put his swarming thoughts to spoken word.

“This should be our wedding day, kēlītsos,” he began, his eye burning into yours as he took a step closer – another and it may be considered indecent. “I wonder if that fact haunts you as it does me.”

Being this close to him always set your body alight, the heat blazing beneath every inch of your skin and begging for the coolness that accompanied his lips. “Every moment,” you replied, your voice quiet and so intentionally only for him. “You should have taken me across the sea on Vhagar where no one would follow or find us.”

The corners of his mouth barely twitched upward in a smile – the first you’d seen from him in months – your words almost pulling a growl from his chest. One of his gloved hands twitched toward yours, his fingers lightly grazing against your wrist, tempting him to pull you closer and closer until no one, not even his brother, could take you away from him. It was foolish to speak this way so openly with so many potential listeners nearby, but neither of you truly cared. “It may happen still.”

“Is this your way of telling me you love me, Prince Aemond? It is not immensely traditional, I’m afraid,” you taunted, eyes finding his face again and appreciating his features. “Though, I suppose it is your rebellious heart that has won my love, as well.”

“Sister,” Helaena greeted as she interrupted the moment between the two of you, his expression immediately hardening as he withdrew his hand from your wrist again. “I wish to walk in the garden with you before you retire to bed. Would you join me?”

With a final longing glance you departed, joining your sister-in-law for one of her nightly walks, growing ever-more dread-filled as the time passed and your return to your wedding duties continued. Soon enough, you thought, Aegon would be crawling between your legs, no doubt smelling like wine and dirt and dragons in the least endearing of ways. The thought made your stomach twist into knots more and more until the Princess had walked you back to your bedchamber, entering the warm room with you.

“The dragon sings at the moon’s brightest hour.”

She departed then, leaving you alone with a puzzled look on your face as multiple handmaidens joined you to remove the elegant gown that weighed you down, allow you to bathe, and help you into night clothes, removing your hair from the intricate style to lay loose. They put more wood on the fire and withdrew, remarking that one of the girls, Marleya, would be around should you need her. It was ironic to know that your husband regularly found himself buried in her, when he was failing to fulfill his obligation to you on your wedding night. Between the walk and the routine the handmaidens had carried out, hours had passed, and while you still felt the looming dread that Aegon may call on you, it had twisted into something far more pathetic. Soon you were sat on the open window overlooking the city, fixing your eyes to the sky with a forlorn expression covering your face as you envied what it would feel like to be able to fly away at any moment.

You were not the only one in the Red Keep troubled by your thoughts, as Aemond found himself wandering the halls since you had departed from him. Though he tried to think of something else, anything else, he could not prevent his thoughts from wandering back to his brother likely consummating his marriage, claiming something from you he had no right possessing. It made him sick to think of the way Aegon would treat you for the first time, almost sick enough to manifest fully.

He hadn’t planned to walk past Aegon’s room, and yet that’s exactly where his feet carried him shortly after 11, the familiar halls as he approached causing him to draw in deeper, steadier breaths, preparing himself for whatever he may hear. As he rounded the final corner he was greeted with the sight of his stumbling, drunken older brother holding the door to his bedchamber open for one…two…three…four…working women from King’s Landing, their quiet giggles being shushed by him until they were all nestled inside with him close behind. When the door closed with a heavy thud, Aemond released a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

If Aegon was partaking in his usual activities, that meant you were alone. And while it pleased him to know his brother had not pulled you into his bed just yet, it also made the anger burn inside of him. This was, after all, your wedding night and you had looked so beautiful in his house colors – and now you were alone.

It was approaching the middle of the night when your thoughts were interrupted.

“Your Grace,” came the voice of Marleya. She was quiet, timid – not wanting to interrupt the state she knew you were in but unable to refuse what had been asked of her. “Apologies for the interruption. Prince Aemond has come to request a word with you, my Queen.”

When you heard the light fall of his boots against the stone floor you inhaled a deep breath, trying to steady your breathing so you could talk without giving away your emotional state. Although you wanted to seek the comfort you had so often found in his face you kept your eyes forward, back to him as you continued to look at the night sky. When his footsteps silenced relatively close behind your position you inhaled another deep breath to prepare yourself for whatever additional torment was fated for your night.

“Your Grace,” came his quiet timbre, the moniker pulling a sigh from you. Hearing anything but your name from him sounded so foreign – so wrong.

“Yes, Prince Aemond,” you managed in response, mentally thanking yourself for the composure you kept over your words.

“I have come to pass news of your…good husband,” he began, his words laced with venom and disgust. Judging by his words, your handmaiden had lingered in the bedchamber, so you were not alone with another man – improper indeed on your wedding night. “I feel it best if the information is delivered between family.”

You briefly turned your head to direct a glance at the girl, who was not much younger than you, offering a light smile. “Thank you, Marleya. I am in safe hands with my…brother. You may retire for the night.”

The girl nodded before exiting, closing the door to the bedchamber as she went. Aemond watched her go, confirmed the door was closed with a lingering glance before turning his eyes to the back of your head. You had returned your gaze to the stars twinkling above the sky, wondering how it would feel to be there – to be so very far away.

“I thought that your Grace should be informed that I have witnessed our King entering his own bedchamber not long ago,” he started, almost expecting you to turn to watch him speak. It was curious when you did not look in his face when he spoke. “He seemed to be quite full of alcohol. Not to worry, though, he had escorts to ensure his…satisfactory retirement for the night. You need not wait for his arrival here.” He watched as your shoulders lowered with the release of a shaky breath, the visible signification of your faltering anxiety.

“Is this all, Prince Aemond? You’ve come to remind me my good husband is a drunken whoremonger?” you questioned; harsh words softened by the meekness in your voice. Despite your insistence to keep your face from him and hide your tears, your voice had begun to shake – as had your shoulders. Aemond was familiar with both.

He stepped forward, the sound of his boots drawing nearer both sending your body alight and filling it with dread. When he stood just behind you his arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you back against his chest as he had done so many times. You wondered if this would be the last. “What troubles you? I should think it is a comfort my brother will not summon you tonight,” he spoke lightly, lowering his head down to rest his chin atop your head.

“A woman’s wedding is supposed to be the greatest day of her life,” you began, forsaking strength in his arms and relying on him to support you. “And yet I feel like my life has been ripped away from me.”

“It is unfair, your Grace,” he began, his warmth radiating through you and settling into a familiar comfort deep within you that only he could bring. His voice was so soft, so sincere, so unlike it had been each time you had heard him speak in the last few months. “My brother is a fool to ignore such a beautiful bride. You were art brought to life in our house colors.”

You released another deep breath you didn’t fully realize you were holding, the relaxation in your torso allowing him to wrap his arms around you tighter. Even now you wore the Targaryen colors – a thin black night dress and an even longer, lighter red robe. Aemond wanted nothing more than to pin you against the wall like the art he viewed you as – even more now with your face free of additions and hair left loose. You raised onto your knees, turning simultaneously to plant yourself in his arms fully, chest pressed to his in an inherently indecent manner consider your new titles. Neither of you had ever cared for such.

You titled your head back to allow him a true look at your face – cheeks streaked with tear trails, bottom lip red and swollen from your incessant biting, and eyes red, glossy and puffy from undoubted hours of crying. Even under the despair in your eyes he could see the lingering hope, the love that burned for him hiding in the depths and screaming to break free. He raised one hand to cup your cheek in it, the cool leather coming against your warm cheek cueing a shiver up your spine.

Without giving you a chance to stop them more tears spilled over your cheeks, his glove soaking up the tears on one of your cheeks. Having spent so much time around Aemond in your life you knew what the subtle looks behind his remaining eye meant. That fact was doing nothing to help sedate the burning you felt for him as you met his gaze, facing the concern, the care and the longing he was harboring directly. The intensity caused your breath to catch in your throat.

“Īlē ñuhon, kēlītsos, [You were mine, little cat]” he sighed, leaning his forehead against yours and closing his eye. His perfect nose lightly brushed against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist tighter. He reveled in the way you melted to him, joining your form to his in a way that was so unique to the two of you. “I should have claimed you long ago.”

His thumb began to brush lightly against your cheek, the desire to free himself of his gloves and feel you again growing stronger. Your breath caught in your throat briefly before you found the word you sought in a language so different from your own, albeit hardly above a whisper. “Ñuhon.”

“Kessa, kēlītsos, [Yes, little cat]” he breathed, the tip of his nose kissing yours lightly. “Lions, like dragons, do not belong to people. We belong to ourselves. But you have always been mine, and I have always been yours.” He brushed your cheek again gently, his fingertips so uncharacteristically light as the fire behind his eyes burned into yours. “You may be his wife to the kingdom, but the gods know you are mine.”

You felt more tears spill over your lashes, a sigh falling from your lips as Aemond twisted his head barely, pressing his lips to one of your cheeks to kiss the tear away. You only melted into him further, nuzzling your face into his hand that still rested on your cheek. It was a crime to be certain, his next move – and yet there was nothing truly wrong with the way he turned his head again, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so soft it was nostalgic of the first you’d shared years ago now. Although you should have pulled away, or at the very least hesitated, you returned his kiss without second thought. When he spoke next his words were muffled by your lips.

“I came to do what my brother will not and give you a proper wedding night,” he began, pressing another kiss to your lips when his thought was complete. “If it is not your wish, stop me now. I will listen to your command – I will leave these walls and not speak of this again if you ask it.”

You almost hesitated, almost took a moment to consider your answer, but threw any caution to the wind by granting him another kiss – rougher, needier, more desperate and yet still softer than Aemond felt he’d ever deserve. He grasped you tighter, his fingertips indenting into the soft skin on your cheek as his other hand clutched the fine fabric on your lower back, holding you closer to him.

“I do love you, kēlītsos [little cat],” he muttered against your lips, unwilling to pull away but needing to say the words aloud nonetheless. “I have thought the words so many times now and never found it in myself to say them, though I should have before now.”

His hands left you to work on his own tunic, content with baring himself in some way to you first as he awaited your response. Your lips claimed his in another kiss before you found quiet words to whisper to him. “I have loved you for so long, Aemond, but he…he would kill me for this.”

“He wouldn’t dream of ordering harm to you with me to face.”

How long had he been thinking about this? Had he wanted to do this for years? Had he been considering taking you for months before Aegon could leading up to your wedding, or had something finally snapped in his mind today? Regardless of when it had happened – his mind was made up, and there was nothing that could be said to change his mind.

He discarded the thick black fabric from his torso to the floor, uncaring where it landed before he claimed your lips in another full kiss, his hands making busy with the thin tie around your waist. Craving the way he’d kissed you in the dragon pit only months ago you parted your lips for him, his tongue immediately staking claim on the warmth of your mouth. As he pushed the robe from your shoulders, he carefully placed the clothing on a surface close by, taking much more care in your belongings than his own. There was nothing worth doing so fast he couldn’t show you that he cared for you – deeply. The extra time would never be a bother with you.

He was thankful your night dress was thin and loose enough to slide down your shoulders carefully, his head bowing to press kisses down the top of one of your shoulders as he pushed the straps free, hands grasping your hips to pull you close. When the bare skin of your torsos met both of you released a sigh, Aemond tucking his head into your neck and holding you close for a moment, relishing in the warmth passing between the two of you. This close you could feel his heartbeat, and the raised skin of whatever wounds he’d found himself on the receiving end of already, so young in many ways and old in several more.

His lips started trailing up your neck, pulling a quiet gasp from you as your hands grasped his shoulders. He slid his hands to your lower back again to hold you as close as possible as his lips trailed lower, brushing over your collarbone. Aemond had been patient, and he could be for a while longer – as long as he got to feel as much of you as possible beneath his fingertips and lips.

He held you against him tightly, moving the two of you in front of the fireplace so he could see your body under the warm glow of the flames. As you followed his silent instruction your hands slid down his torso, eyes running over every inch of him hungrily as your fingers traced over the old scars you’d felt against you moments ago. He grasped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head backward so you would gaze up at him, and with your attention where he wanted it, he reached his other hand to cup one of your breasts, rubbing his thumb over your already hardened nipple gently. He sank to his knees in front of you slowly, covering you with feather-light kisses as he went, his every movement laced with intent as his kisses trailed to your hips.

Though the heat that spread throughout your body had created a fog that shrouded your mind, you found a moment of clarity. Reaching your hands to hold the sides of his face carefully and applying just enough pressure for him to respond you lifted him back up to you, sliding one of your hands to rest on his shoulder. You pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth before trailing them up the side of his face gently before brushing them, impossibly light and so full of love, across the lower part of the old scar that still brought him pain. The hand that still rested on his cheek slid to the back of his head, fingers dancing over the strap that secured the covering to his face.

“Kostilus [please],” you whispered gently, your quiet request filling his ears and pulling a gentle sigh from his lips. “I don’t wish for you to be hidden from me, Aemond.” It was the only time you were assertive with him, running your nose along his cheek to press a kiss beneath his ear. His breath caught in his throat, hands grasping at your waist as a quiet groan rumbled in his chest. He gave a firm nod, and you immediately pulled the patch free from his head, lying it carefully on the lounge next to you before whispering a quiet thank you.

“I see my sister has been teaching you to mind your manners in our ancestral tongue,” he purred, sliding one of his hands up your back to run his hand over your hair, encouraging you to look at him. The moment you tilted your head back for him he claimed your lips, only momentarily before he withdrew to give you a moment to run your eyes over his face appreciatively.

“Vhagar is the most fearsome dragon alive, and she wears many scars,” you cooed, leaning forward to press a kiss to the upper half of the scar on his face, your hand resting on his cheek to allow your thumb to brush over the bottom half. “The strongest dragons always do.”

While he wanted to claim your lips again in a kiss, he couldn’t hold himself back any further, lifting you into his arms to carry you to the bed as he gazed down into your face with an expression that melted further into love the longer it went on. He laid you in the bed with your head against the pillow before he crawled between your legs, encouraging your legs apart with the gentle caress of his hands. His lips followed his fingers on their path, soaking in the quiet mewls that he was already pulling from you. With your sex bared to him he could see your wet arousal leaking from your entrance, your thighs slick with the arousal he’d brought on.

He slid one of his hands higher up your thigh, a singular finger gathering some of the slick before he brought it to his face, popping the digit into his mouth with an appreciative hum. A wave of heat crashed through you accompanied by a gasp as your mouth fell open, the expression pulling a quiet chuckle from him as he lowered his head down, licking a stripe up the inside of your thigh with another low hum.

“Every inch of you is more beautiful than my mind could have done imagined,” he whispered into your skin before pressing a gentle kiss to your thigh. With one last glance to your face, he moved forward, running his tongue between your folds and grasping your thighs, holding you down slightly as you moaned for him. Wanton and greedy, he ran his tongue through your folds several more times before he could speak again. “I should throw you atop Vhagar now and flee so my brother may never taste you.”

With those final parting words, he dove into your awaiting sex, his tongue devouring you hungrily as the knowingly quiet symphony of your moans filled the bedchamber. He flicked the muscle over your swollen bundle of nerves, causing your hips to buck up slightly which only resulted in him grabbing you tighter, holding you against his face. Running his tongue downward again he dipped it inside your awaiting heat, groaning at the feeling.

Alternating between licks and sucks against your sensitive clit and fucking his tongue into you hastened the pressure building inside your lower half, your breaths becoming desperate as your thighs shook against his head. Feeling your walls flutter around his tongue he finally connected a thumb to your clit, rubbing it with the gentlest of circles as white-hot euphoria blinded your vision, his other hand reaching to clamp down over your mouth to stifle the scream that left your chest. Disconnecting his mouth from you, he continued his gentle movements with his thumb, his eyes gazing up to your face like he’d just discovered some fabled hidden treasure.

“I could stay here for hours feasting on you, beloved,” he cooed, leaning forward to lap up more of your nectar with a low groan in his chest.

“Please, Aemond…” you whined, already sensitive and satisfied and yet desperate for more.

“You want me to keep my head between your thighs, my Queen?” he pondered with that cocky, overly smug tone that always made you squeeze your thighs together. Another quiet whimper fell from your lips as you shook your head, breaths still desperate and mind still hazy from your orgasm.

“No, Aemond, I need you…please,” you began, shifting your hips against his hand to attempt for more pressure as his lips began to trail back up your body. He flattened his hand against your mound, allowing you to rub yourself on him – your desperation doing nothing to sedate his smirk. “Kostilus [please]. Don’t be cruel to me.”

His lips reached yours then, a gentle kiss carefully tucked into the corner of your mouth before he settled himself between your legs, leaning back on his haunches carefully. “Daor sir, gevie mēre [not yet, beautiful one],” he began, raking his eyes over your flushed figure beneath him in appreciation. “I have to open you up for me first.”

The hand that was still settled at your core dipped lower, one of his fingers teasing at your entrance in slow, tantalizing circles. When he’d pulled another moan from you and watched your face falter as you did, he slipped his index finger into your awaiting velvet channel. He felt your body tense at the intrusion, your walls clenching around his finger immediately. He wiggled it slightly, clicking his tongue against his teeth – more-so in concentration rather than disappointment.

“Lykirī,” he cooed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I cannot make you feel good if you don’t relax yourself for me, beloved.” You could only lean your forehead to his as you nodded, closing your eyes and inhaling in a deep breath. He withdrew the digit from you before thrusting it back in again slowly, the edges of his lips ticking upward as you released a quiet whimper. “That’s better.”

Within minutes he had relaxed you, his finger circling and wiggling inside of you with each thrust, pulling more moans from you as your body became accustomed to his movements. He added a second finger soon after, causing a gasp to fall from your lips and your hips to buck forward against his hand. Pressing another kiss to your lips he then trailed them lower again, sucking your swollen clit between his lips gently as he curled his fingers inside to rub against the rough patch behind your clit.

“A-Aemond…” you moaned, earning a groan from him as he then flicked his tongue against your clit, massaging it gently as he continued to wiggle his fingers against the spot deep within you that was causing your thighs to begin to shake again. When he began to suck on the sensitive bundle of nerves again a second wave of euphoria washed over you, a rush of wetness covering his hand as he pleasured you through the orgasm.

Removing his fingers from you and chuckling quietly and the whimper you released from the loss, Aemond moved to stand beside the bed, working himself free of his pants which had begun to painfully restrict his throbbing cock. Once his member was free, he wrapped his fingers around it, stroking himself as he watched your breathing return to somewhat of a normal state, eyes roaming over your body appreciatively and the wetness that already covered your bed clothes.

When you opened your eyes again and turned your head to gaze up at him you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed over. His free hand grasped one of yours gently, guiding it upward toward his cock in silent suggestion. When you wrapped your lithe fingers around his member he threw his head back in a moan, the noise turning to a low, rumbling growl in his chest as you mirrored his stroking movements from moments before.

Unable to deny his needs any longer he climbed back onto the bed between your legs, sighing at the loss when you removed your hand from him but appeasing himself by rubbing his cock against your core. Wrapping his own hand around himself again, he rubbed his leaking head between your folds to gather some slick against it. “Beg me again, my love. You sound so gorgeous when you beg for me.”

“Please, Aemond,” you breathed out, wrapping your legs around his waist in knowing anticipation. “Kostilus [please].”

He pushed into you slowly then, his thick cock sliding into your entrance and pulling an almost too loud cry from your lips, the protest silenced by his lips soon. His lips molded to yours as your hot channel took inch by inch of him, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he finally felt your tight walls embrace him. When he was fully sheathed inside you, he licked across the seam of your lips, stilling his waist as he kissed you deeply for several moments.

When your legs around his waist started to relax just a bit and your walls fluttered around him, he slowly withdrew from you before pushing his cock back in to the hilt, pulling away from the kiss to hear the moan that left your lips.

“So tight,” he breathed against your mouth quietly, beginning to repeat his slow and intentional thrusts. “I should have been enjoying your little cunt for years now.”

You could only whine at his words, too overstimulated and focused on how full you felt and the lingering pain of being stretched this way for the first time to form coherent words. His hair fell beautifully over his shoulders and brushed against your torso with his movements, a piece covering his eye from your view. When you lifted a hand to move the piece away from his face he smiled, turning his head to press his lips into your fingers before moving his kisses to your neck.

“Oh, the way you feel around me…” he groaned before pressing a kiss beneath your ear, his pace already picking up slightly. You were so tight and warm around him and he had wanted you for so long, the sheer feeling of finally being inside of you was not going to allow him a long session with you. There would, of course, be others, likely even in the same night – but for now he could only give in to the pleasure filling every cell in his body. “I’m going to come back here every night until I have filled your womb with my babe.”

You nearly moaned too loud again, your walls fluttering around him at his brazen, forbidden words. He lifted his head to gaze into your eyes again, leaning to press a kiss against your lips to assist you with muffling your cries as he picked up his pace more, grinding his hips into yours each time he’d gone as far as he could go. Though you were already feeling weak you managed to nod enough for him to register, your confirmation pulling a smile across his face.

“Oh, you like that, kēlītsos?” he questioned, giving another particularly slow and intentional thrust to massage his velvety head against the spot deep within you. You moaned his name quietly, a worthy award for his efforts. “You want me to empty my seed into you? Speak it.”

“Yes, Aemond,” you whimpered immediately, knowing he would require an answer, knowing he needed to feel that power over you. His pace picked up again as another growl ripped through his chest, the lewd sounds of your bodies joining together creating a dizzying symphony in the room that he would gladly listen to forever.

“We will create the perfect dragon,” he replied, letting his intentions be fully known on the chance you hadn’t understood yet. “Strong, and smart, and beautiful, and powerful…much better children than Aegon could hope to give you.”

You nodded your agreement, moving your lips against his slowly, almost cautiously in a kiss to silence another loud cry that came from his lips as he rocked against your cervix. One of his hands reached to grasp yours, lifting it above your head as he lowered his own to connect his mouth to one of your budded nipples, suckling at it with fervor in the hopes it would push you closer to the edge.

Your breaths soon became more desperate, legs shaking around his waist as the hand that wasn’t being held in his found way to the back of his head, your fingers lacing into his hair. He disconnected his mouth from your tit with a gentle bite to your nipple, an almost sinister smirk covering his features as you cried out for him again. “Will you release for me again, beloved? Find euphoria with me,” he almost begged, quickly adjusting his words to a simple instruction.

You nodded, vision going white again as he reconnected his mouth to yours, kissing you with more passion than he had thus far. With your walls clenching him tightly he found his own release, hot spurts of his cum painting your walls as a loud cry of his own ripped through his chest, thankful once again that your mouth swallowed most of the volume.

At the same time Aemond’s sound of pleasure filled the bedchamber the familiar cry of Sunfyre was heard above the castle, an interruption in the night sky no doubt caused by the new king taken a drunken flight to impress his chosen whores for the night. As Aemond released your mouth from his when his orgasm had finished, he leaned his head against your shoulder to speak through bated breaths.

“Perhaps he will fall from his dragon and become so injured I must rule in his stead.”

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